


Love (Literally) Takes Your Breath Away

by ythmir



Category: Midnight Cinderella (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Hanahaki AU, needless to say this is painful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 00:24:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13692957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ythmir/pseuds/ythmir
Summary: an illness takes over the King of Stein. He coughs out flowers due to unrequited love and is advised to undergo an operation - at a great personal cost.





	Love (Literally) Takes Your Breath Away

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted in my tumblr about a year ago; half-requested half-egged on by a friend. One of my stories which I am really proud of.
> 
> (I'm nearly done importing my fanfics over here on AO3 too, yey!)

The first time they had met, the Princes Elect of Wysteria had been wide-eyed and awed at him. It had been during a ball to celebrate her election. She had been doing her best not to stare. He could still remember how she had blushed when he had complimented her speech and how she had stammered her gratitude before disappearing behind her Royal Adviser.

The second time they had met was during peace negotiations between Protea and Wysteria. The Princess Elect had seemed stronger then, more resolute in her stance to protect her kingdom despite repercussion in the global community. Yet she still blushed when Byron had complimented her but at least she had managed to look him in the eye as she did.

The third time they had met was when she had learned of the true nature of her attendant Nico Meier and requested that he continue his service in her court instead of returning to Stein. Byron then had not been able to help himself and had decided to test her.

To his delight, she had not wavered. She stood firmly before him with the grace and strength of a true noble. Nobody would have been able to guess that she was common-born.

That had been the first day.

***

(Day 15)

Byron Wagner had always been healthy so far as he remembered but lately, he had been coughing in his sleep. Once or twice, he would wake up, cough, and then sleep again. He had self-diagnosed himself as overworked because what else could be the explanation? He had been busy forging relations and trade with the other kingdoms. Work piled upon work and there was simply no way around them.

Thus, he paid no attention whenever sometimes he woke up and saw a few petals by the side of his bed. Spinner must have gone out again, he would think to himself, and brought back something to eat.

So the sickness had sort of crept up on him until he could no longer ignore it.

Byron was in his study, finalizing a trade deal with Wysteria to which the Princess herself had asked, when all of a sudden, he found that he couldn’t breathe right.

He froze, panicking, bringing his hands immediately to his throat. His mind raced at possibilities instantly.

What had he last eaten? Strawberry shortcake as a dessert from dinner– but he had no allergies that he knew. What had he last drank? Wine? A bottle gifted to him by the Princess of Wysteria as a token for successful relations.

Had he been poisoned?

He tried gulping in air – yet nothing could quite reach his lungs. His heart hammered in his chest at the sudden lack of oxygen, growing louder and louder in his ears. He stood up – a little too quickly – and he swayed. Byron grabbed at his chair for support, trying all the while to breathe, trying all the while to think clearly. But failing in both.

_Goddamn it!_

He opened his mouth, trying to yell out Albert’s name. He clutched at his chest, his insides churning painfully. There was no way he could call anyone – no way he could even speak.

He knocked away everything he could reach that was on his desk, pens, documents, bottles of ink, praying that the noise would summon Albert or anyone at all. He tried flipping his desk, found that he couldn’t, and was glad that he didn’t need to, as the door slammed open.

“Your Majesty!” Panic was written all over Albert’s face at the sight of him.

Byron made choking noises, willing every fiber of his body to cooperate. He tried one last time, forcing his lungs to follow. When he opened his mouth however, what spilled over weren’t words.

But petals.

_Flowers?_

And then Byron’s lungs acted up again and he began coughing and coughing. More and more petals spewed from his mouth. Each ragged breath seemed to only bring forth more. Byron tried stopping and found that it only made it worse; his stomach heaved, forcing him to double over and cough until he could cough no more.

And when he was done, Byron brought a hand to his heaving chest, horrified. Albert himself stood stock still, mouth open in disbelief.  
g  
At their feet, covering the mess that Byron had made with his files, were dozens and dozens and dozens of petals. There were more petals in that room than Byron had seen in his life. And all of them had come from inside of him.

***

(Day 17)

Byron Wagner was never one to believe in anything mystical although there were a few things he could not explain: the order of the universe, a common underlying moral code that was present in persons of all walks of a life, and a child’s endless supply of energy. Apart from these things, Byron knew anything can be explained by the sciences.

Anything.

Even the fact that he has just vomited flowers.

“It’s called _hanahaki_ ,” said the physician. “It’s a sickness that – ”

“Flowers came out of the King’s mouth!” Albert cut off the man, still in a state of shock.

“It’s a medical condition. Rare, but not mystical.” The physician’s smile was gentle as he regarded Byron. “You are the first case I have the privilege to examine, my King. I’ve only ever read it in the medical books.”

“So it has happened to others?” Byron asked.

The physician nodded in reply. “ _Hanahaki_ is a disease that was first discovered in the East roughly 600 years ago but its origin perhaps dates farther into history. I know you understand why many people dismiss this as some sort of rubbish. But it is very much real and very much an ailment that some have to suffer with their entire life.”

Byron cleared his throat, not wanting to cough out petals in front of the good doctor who was looking at him expectantly as he did.

“And the cure?” Albert prompted.

“Ah.” The physician looked up at the knight. “Well, you see. Hanahaki is a disease born out of unrequited love –”

“What?!” Albert erupted, looking for all the world as if he was about to wrestle the man to the ground. Byron stopped him just in time, raising a hand. “But, my lord!” Albert almost sounded as if he was whining. “This man is talking nonsense! Unrequited love has never been – ”

“Unrequited love has never been a source of happiness.” The physician continued. “And it is the cause of many unfortunate illnesses. In all people.” Again, the gentle smile on the doctor’s lips. “Your Highness, one cure for this is to have your love reciprocated.”

_Typical._

“And if that fails?” Byron asked.

“There’s always surgery.” The physician piped. “But it will be messy and the risks are quite high: memory loss, increased chances of severe depression and suicidal tendencies, severe loss of appetite and complete eradication of any feelings towards this person. I don’t have the equipment with me right now, but we can schedule for your operation– ”

“You said that some people have suffered through this their entire life,” Byron prompted, not wanting to dwell on the second option. “If I would choose neither reciprocation nor surgery, then will this disease exacerbate? And for how long? And what are my options at dealing with the unusual symptom?”

The physician looked horrified. “With all due respect, your Highness, I beg you to consider the second option. Most of the recorded cases of _hanahaki_ have opted to do the surgery. To let it fester is a death sentence!”

Byron frowned. “I do not understand how.”

“The petals fill up the lungs and they have to be ejected from the body consistently. There will be more coughing and more vomiting the longer the disease is present. The first few months to perhaps a year would be tolerable but anything longer than that, your Majesty, is suffering. The rate at which the flowers bloom inside your lungs is exponential! The longer a patient suffers, the more he is unable to breathe!”

“Tch.” Albert shook his head.

Byron was thoughtful for a moment. Then smiled to himself. “Love truly does take your breath away then.”

Only the physician laughed.

***

(Day 29)

“Your Majesty.”

“Princess.”

The Princess Elect curtsied in front of him before breaking into a huge smile. Almost instantly, his mood lightened and he smiled himself.

“I’m so glad you came, Byron.” The princess then gushed, formalities all but done. She grabbed his hand, tugging. “I remember promising you my first dance for tonight in a letter, yes?”

Byron allowed himself to be led to the dancing hall despite Albert’s frown and ignoring the giggle that came from Nico. “Indeed you did promise.”

The first dance had just finished and they were in time for the second. A wide berth was given to the two by the rest of nobles who all but whispered amongst themselves; some admiring the Princess’ courage, others awed by the sight of him – all marvelling at both of them and the pair that they made. And the nobles further asked amongst themselves what kind of person this Princess Elect was, befriending the King of Stein in the way she did. It was rare enough that he joined balls, much less mere dinner invitations.

But Byron could not help himself.

He was unsure where his intrigue for the Wysterian Princess Elect started.

“Let’s start deepening trade relations with Wysteria.” He had declared one day.

“My King, our experts say our profits would be less by 3 percent than if we were to make this deal with Fairmark.”

“Don’t you think she can turn it around?” Byron had replied. “She’s capable enough.”

“The Princess Elect?”

Byron had leaned back on his chair as her image returned to his mind. “What would be your opinion of her, Al?”

“In all honesty, your Majesty?” Albert had set down his notepad. “An idiot for wanting Nico to stay and be her attendant.”

“And?”

A sullen sigh before continuing. “Resilient. Strong-willed. Of tender character. And has not yet removed her tendency to use slurs on occasion. Our informants say that she was a school-teacher once.”

“Oh. What did she teach?”

“Everything. She is erudite, or so some of our nobles would say. She’s also being pressured to look for a Prince Consort. A certain Louis Howard is said to be the favourite but rumors circulate that she is in love with another.” Albert scoffed. “Bring in a commoner and then force her into marriage – Wysteria is a land of baffling customs.”

“Baffling does not even begin to describe it.” Byron said. “Schedule a visit to Wysteria. I think it’s time to take a closer look at our closest neighbour.”

One scheduled meeting over tea turned to two and then four and then soon enough Byron found himself visiting Wysteria whenever the opportunity came. If not, he made several excuses himself.

And now here they were, and she had led him to the dance floor, where others would ask for permission first, face aglow, and seemingly having the time of her life.

And to be perfectly honest, as they swayed to the music, Byron was having the time of his life too.

***

(Day 45)

Byron’s cough was besieged him as soon as the doors closed. He had been holding off as much as he could and now that he was alone, it came back with a vengeance. His lungs felt as if they were going to break and his throat was so itchy he had the urge to claw at them from the outside. When it was over, he let out a ragged breath, slumping back against his chair in exhaustion.

Then, he turned to examine the flowers.

He expected red carnations, as was usual, but now that he took a closer look, he realized that there were also blood-red chrysanthemums.

He frowned.

He should pay more attention to the petals, and perhaps buy a book regarding their meaning. How long had it been since he’d been vomiting chrysanthemums too?

What was more interesting though, was that the petals did not at all look as if they came from his lungs. There was no saliva or fluids or blood. It was as if he had plucked them and scattered them fresh from the ground. They were even fragrant.

It was a curious disease indeed. If he were to describe this _hanahaki_ , it would be like that. And inconvenient. And messy. And unforgivingly unfair.

“Your Majesty.” Albert entered and, as usual, he had a bag with him and a huge pitcher of water. Nobody else in the palace knew that the King of Stein had _hanahaki_.

“We should start a perfumery.” He said, chuckling as Albert poured him a tall glass of water.

“This is a serious ailment.” Albert frowned before turning to sweep the petals into the bag.

“And perfumes are all the craze in some kingdoms now.” Byron took a deep breath again. He had learned to savor the times his throat and lungs were clear. “The scents the princess wears – ”

“Your Majesty, _please_ consider the surgery.”

“No.” Byron said, frowning back at his captain. “We’ve discussed this, Al. I will live with it.”

“But – !”

“Albert,” Byron’s tone was gentle, surprising even himself. “You will understand why I choose this. One day. I know you will.”

Silence and Albert looked for all the world as if he wanted to retaliate. But instead, he turned his head away, muttering. “I don’t think I can, your Majesty.”

***

(Day 70)

Byron had visited his physician again to query about possible balms or concoctions to soothe his throat. He had just come back to Stein from Wysteria. He had nearly been reduced to tears as he fought from coughing, having had to resort to discreetly spitting into his handkerchief where instead of anything that resembled the flu, there was only the evidence of _hanahaki_.

The doctor suggested lemon drops. And then to Byron’s surprise, the man had all but begged to examine the flowers after. At least he and Albert no longer had to worry about disposal. Byron even suggested the man open up the perfumery Albert had been so hostile to, to which the doctor chuckled and flatly said no. The petals would be for science.

The lemon drops did wonders though. Whenever Byron felt that his throat was acting up, he would discreetly take two and let it sit in his mouth for as long as he could. He would also often do this prior to meetings or assemblies which required him to talk at length. It had proven an effective measure and none of his court or his people or other dignitaries were the wiser.

Even Wysteria. Or its court.

Even his beloved princess.

Nobody need know.

Nobody need pity him for it.

But Byron knew he was simply delaying the obvious.

Postpone as he could the coughs when he needed, they still came back. There was no stopping it. More than once he had found it especially difficult to breathe and in those moments he thought that it would be his last ragged breath, his lungs filling up with flowers, and that would be that. However, with each seemingly final inhale, he refused to surrender, willing his body to fight for just one more day.

One more day to see her face.

One more day to hear her laugh.

One more day.

***

(Day 93)

Byron had been keeping a log of the flowers.

Red Carnations. Bloody Chrysanthemums. Blushing Tulips. Magenta Zinnias. Dark Pink Roses. A flurry of reds and pinks and carmine. A flurry of emotions. Admiration. Love. Declarations of it. Lasting affection. Thankfulness.

His doctor had sent him a letter and told him some of the petals had grown into plants. Impossible, his doctor had written, but then again, the entire ordeal was groundbreaking. Nobody had ever tried it before. The doctor thanked him again for the opportunity to study the rare disease and promised to name the cure after His Majesty should he be able to discover it.

If there was a cure.

If.

A small note had been at the bottom of the letter. An urgent request from a subject to his lord. A plea from a doctor to his patient. The same words that Albert had been repeating to him from the start.

Byron reread the letter and paid the request no heed.

“Another letter your Majesty.” Albert knocked and then entered the room. “From Wysteria. From Her Highness.”

“Hn.” Byron broke the seal, curious. He had not yet been able to reply to the Princess’ last letter so why should she write again? Was something wrong?

He opened the envelope and frowned as he read.

“What is it, your Majesty?”

Byron was still frowning as he turned to face his Captain. “A conspiracy lurks within the Wysterian Court. And the Princess is asking for our help.”

***

(Day 95)

“And you think this is the best way?”

“The only way.”

Byron sighed as he faced Giles Christophe. “And the Princess’ thoughts?”

“She has agreed to this.”

“I want to speak to her directly.”

There was hesitation in Giles’ features but the Royal Chamberlain knew better than to prohibit a king. “Of course, your Majesty.”

Byron was led to the Princess’ chambers. She stood up, looking for all the world as if she had not slept in days. There was the faintest hints of dark circles under her eyes and her overall demeanor was anxious. Byron had never seen her like this before, and as he stood there in her room, he felt an overwhelming sense of protectiveness engulf him.

And a desire to punish those who had treated her wrongly.

“Byron,” Her smile was apologetic even then. “I’m sorry if Giles had said anything that might have offended you.”

“He has not.” Byron said, sitting down in one of the sofas near the window. The princess sat directly across him. “He has suggested something quite inane though.”

“Ah.” A blush and a turn of her head. “Well. That.”

“And you think the opposition to the Princess system will stop if we do this?”

“Giles seems to think so. Leo does too. And the other nobles – ”

“If I wanted their opinion, I would go to them.” Byron said. “I want to hear what you have to say about this. This is still your life after all.”

The blush seemed to reach her ears. It took her a while but eventually, she looked at him directly, eyes glinting with a ferocity that Byron had come to associate with her feisty nature.

“I want to do this.” She said. “This opposition is bringing instability to my kingdom, Byron. And I will not have that. I would have forgiven them if they had targeted me solely – assassins, attempts at a coup – those things I can withstand and I would laugh at their failure. But… but instead they terrorize the public with their bombs and their acts of violence and their hate.

“I am willing to do whatever is necessary to bring stability back, to help my people, to give them the peace that they deserve.”

Byron let her sentiment linger in the air but it was mostly because he could feel the beginnings of another violent fit in the back of his throat. When the fit seemed to fade away, Byron took a chance and said, “Even if this means unifying our countries?”

A smile now, genuine and a little bit hopeful. Then, her hand on top of his. “I hope the Steiner nobility accept me.”

Byron’s heart jumped to his throat and it took all of his willpower to not kiss the Princess then and there. “You don’t have to worry about that.” He settled for a smile and placed a hand on top of hers. “I already do.”

_Perhaps now, it was going to go away?_

***

(Day 129)

The documents to unify Stein and Wysteria were drafted, proofread, and passed by the two Courts within a time span that left the opposition to the princess system reeling. The little group of opposition was disbanded, branded, and exiled. Byron saw to it that everybody knew of the traitors’ identities, that they would be shamed, and that they would live the rest of their miserable little lives cut off from society, never again to crawl back to the power and prestige they had misused for their own gain.

And to ensure all of this, a wedding was to take place.

Much to Byron’s surprise, there was so little about weddings that he knew. They had hired a wedding planner but the Princess still wanted to make sure.

“I could marry us without all the hubhub.” He had suggested.

“Nonsense!” The Princess had laughed and kissed his cheek fondly. “A ceremony is a must!”

They needed an officiant for the ceremony, a place for something called a reception, bridesmaids, so many invitations, flowers, cakes, food that could feed a hundred, music, wedding bands, doves (?) – the list was endless as Byron took a peek. The Princess was meeting with so many people and overseeing so many things. Byron took it all as dizzying yet she looked like she was having so much fun.

“You are enjoying all of this.” Byron commented, looking at her from across the room were her seamstress was taking measurements for nothing less than three gowns.

“You can only get married once in your life,” She said. “It ought to be a very special occasion.”

Byron approached her when the seamstress was done and then asked, “Is this how you envisioned it?”

The blush again that reached her ears. “I never really… I always thought it would be simple because…” She stammered, fidgeting with her hands. “I just never thought I would have a wedding as a queen. Much less a queen of two countries.”

“Life surprises all of us.”

“Indeed.” She tiptoed to peck him on the cheek.

“I love you.” He said, bringing up a hand to caress her cheek.

“I love you too.”

_It was still not going away._

***

(Day 197)

Byron opened his eyes and barely managed to contain a cough. A flurry of flowers escaped from his mouth, scattering above him and falling on the sheets, and he stared at them in horror.

He’d been doing a good job of keeping his disease under wraps. Despite the fact that each day the disease took a hold of him more often than was convenient, despite the fact that he and the princess were now living together, despite the fact that they grew more and more intimate, despite the fact that they –

More coughs.

Wheezing.

Shortness of breath.

He scrambled out of their bed, heading straight for the bathroom.

“Byron –?”

If the disease progressed as the doctor predicted it would, no amount of water, tea, lemon drop, or soothing balm would stop him from having his episodes. No amount of delaying or hiding or wishing it all away was going to keep him from coughing.

So she was bound to find out.

Eventually.

“Are you all right?” She asked, panicking, following him to the bathroom where if it had been ordinary vomit, he would have looked like he had a bad night of drinking. But instead, he was surrounded by a heap of petals, and their scent filled the bath.

He wondered if he looked lovely despite the fact that he was barely breathing properly.

“What’s happening?” Her eyes darted everywhere, taking in the scene, the petals, the flowers, brows meeting furiously together. “Byron, what is this?”

Byron shook his head, coughing out one last spray of flowers from his mouth. No use hiding it from her anymore. “Nothing.”

“This doesn’t look like nothing!” She exclaimed. “How long has this been happening?”

Exactly 197 days, Byron wanted to say. He has been keeping a log after all. But instead he said, “A few days after our wedding. It was a surprise.”

“What in hell…?” For a moment, she was at a loss for words, mouth agape, as if opening them were enough for her to string two words together. Then her eyes widened, realizing something. She brought a hand to her womb. “Is it…?”

Byron smiled, “No. The doctors said it was from my mother’s side of the family and he assured me I wouldn’t be able to pass it on.”

The Princess didn’t seem convinced but said nothing in reply. She walked over the flowers to where he sat exhausted on the tiles and wrapped her arms around him, pressing him against her chest. “I’m sorry.”

Byron clenched his jaw, hoped she did not notice, and wrapped an arm around her. “Don’t be.”

“It’s almost magical.” She whispered.

“In a way, it is.”

“And unfair.”

Byron was glad she could not see his expression as he whispered back, “It is.”

“I love you, you know.” She hugged him tighter, and Byron felt like he couldn’t breathe again. “Despite this… thing.”

_But it wasn’t going away._

“I know. And I love you too.”

***

(Day 233)

At the very least, the Princess had been amiable to the idea of a perfumery.

“We should make something positive out of this!” She had declared in all her optimism and vigor. “Out of every dark cloud there is a silver lining and I’ll be damned if we don’t make use of it.”

And perhaps that was what he had loved about her most of all. She always found something to laugh about, something to cheer her up. She was always raring to go and there was no obstacle or wall that she could not scale. There was no problem that had did not have a solution. No tear that could not be wiped away.

She would wake up early in the morning to make sure he was all right, and sleep late at night to doubly make sure of the same. She made sure he was comfortable, made sure that he did not want for anything once he started having his episodes (which was getting more and more frequent damn the gods) and had even done her share of hard political decisions when he was too ill to attend meeting. She even made up all sorts of excuses so that his sickness would not be found out.

She was a bubble of energy.

She was the sun.

Day after day after day, Byron found more and more reasons to love her. It did not even matter what she did. She could be picking stones for god’s sake and he would find it endearing. Day after day after day, Byron discovered more of her that made her sparkle in his eyes. Her determination. Her fierce loyalty to her country. And her unrelenting desire to protect those important to her.

She was his savior.

She was his beloved.

Only.

_It’s not going away._

***

(Day 276)

“I have planted some of the flowers as you’ve requested, your Majesty.” Albert said as he entered Byron’s study one afternoon.

“The arrangements for its revelation?”

“Already made and simply awaiting for the… inevitable.”

“I want her to remember me like that when I’m gone: a garden of flowers. A garden filled with nothing but my affection for her.” Byron put down his documents and regarded his knight. “You don’t seem too happy, Al. Here I am being romantic and you are hardly even smiling. Has Nico gotten on your nerve again?”

Albert sighed. “Can I be frank, your Majesty?”

Byron braced himself before answering, “Always.”

“We should have her investigated.”

All goodwill seemed to drain from Byron.

Albert took his silence as a signal to carry on. “There is simply no way your sickness can only worsen. It’s not possible that even after everything you’ve done, after what you’ve been through, that you are continuing to suffer from this damnable disease. An heir is already in her womb for heaven’s sake and I – ”

Byron slammed a fist on the table. “Stop it, Albert. There will be no investigation of any sort because there is no third party! She has been faithful to me. I am sure of it.”

“But your Majesty, your disease _is not going away_! Neither is it at the very least decreasing frequency.”

“And you think I don’t know that?” Byron answered, anger rising. “Don’t you think that I am reminded of that fact every time –”

And there it was again. Coughing, heaving, his breath being taken away by something he could not understand. And flowers. So many flowers from his mouth.

Reminding him.

Aggressively.

Harshly.

Unforgivingly so.

The episodes were longer now, more painful, more violent. Once they started, they didn’t just stop like they used to. The seconds would turn to minutes and the minutes would turn to hours.

Today was the worst so far. How he managed to survive for this long, even he could not answer.

Byron had puked five times and it was just in the early afternoon. All his meetings for the day were cancelled and he lay in his bed like a sick man. More and more flowers were coming out of his mouth than he could bother to identify. His doctor had to be summoned.

“It will only get worse, won’t it?” Byron asked as the doctor tucked away his instruments into a bag.

“Unfortunately, your Majesty.” His doctor had all but resigned in convincing him to the surgery. As a matter of fact, he had given it up when Byron had married the Princess. “I can only give you this much comfort.” He added, looking at the fresh supply of medicines he had brought.

“She is the only comfort I need.”

_But it wasn’t going away._

A pained smile. The kind a father would give to his son. And Byron did not quite know what to make of it. “If it brings any sort of pride, your Majesty, you currently hold the title to the longest surviving case of _hanahaki_.”

“For how long was the longest, then?”

“The longest recorded case was a mere two months.”

Byron thought for a moment then said, “It’s all about fighting for one more day, my good doctor. Some days, some nights, I often feel like I had breath my last. The room would darken and I would begin to see stars. It’s as if my lungs simply refused to work, as if my body had already given up the fight that my spirit had forced on it. I would brace myself for those flashbacks that people often talk about when they reach the end, but then I remember…

“I remember why I have held on for so long. I remember why I have been fighting for so long. If I die, I would not be able to see her face anymore. I would not be able to hear her laugh anymore. I would not be able to be touch her, to wipe away her tears, to be there for her, protect her, provide for her.

“So I tell myself, just one more day. Give me one more day to be with her. Perhaps in future cases, you could advise them of that.

“In retrospect, it’s selfish. Yet I cannot part with her. Logic dictates I rid myself of this emotion and continue as I always have. The world will continue its spin. Lives will continue to be lived. And she and I would simply… have different paths.

“But I have never forced her to do anything. I have never made her do anything she does not want. She is here with me because she chose it. And yet…” He paused. “And yet, here we are, my good doctor. Here we are.”

Again, that gentle and understanding smile.

Byron felt his throat tighten and for a moment, he thought he was going to have another fit. But instead, he only shuddered and realized then and there that his lungs were not heaving, that he did not have the urge to cough, that his stomach was not about to do somersaults.

But there was an ache in his chest. A dull and throbbing pain that was both unfamiliar yet felt like an old friend.

Byron looked away from the doctor, suddenly very interested in the chandelier that hung in the room.

***

(Day 399)

_It’s not going away._

_But why is it not going away?_

_Is it ever going to go away?_

Some twisted joke of fate cursed him with this disease.

And the same cruelty kept him alive.

“You’re giving me that sullen look again, Al.” Byron said, closing his journal as Albert entered his bedroom. “Do you know how hard it is to be cheerful for both of us?”

“I’m sure your Majesty is capable. After all, it is also hard on me to be serious about this for the both of us.”

At this Byron laughed. “You’re doing a good job at it. So I needn’t be too worried.”

Albert sighed. “Your Majesty…”

“If you’re going to suggest that abominable idea again – I will not be happy.”

“I wish I was, your Majesty. But there is something more immediate.”

Byron frowned as Albert stepped closer, handing him a letter. “War, your Majesty.”

***

(Day 471)

Civil war, to be exact.

The day his father would return was only a matter of time. Byron regretted not having finished him off when he had a chance. But even as he had raised his sword against his father, he could not strike. He could not thrust the sword into the damn man’s heart. Instead, the Tyrant was led away, tried, and imprisoned for his transgressions against the crown.

“You’re too soft.” His father had spat, when Byron had visited him in prison. “You’re going to regret not having killed me then and not killing me now.”

Perhaps he was too soft, Byron mused. But he was definitely regretting not killing the bastard now.

Insurgency was plaguing the territories to the north. Villages and towns were being ransacked by the Tyrant. His allies – having hidden for so long, and no doubt gathering strength – were back in full force. They even rallied some kingdoms that have been in opposition to both Wysteria and Stein.

They had been successful in stopping the enemy’s advance fortunately. Wysteria’s reinforcements had come just in time and they were able to block them near the Sierra Madre. It would hard to cross the mountains, but there was a small pathway that the enemies could use to attack from the rear. Only the locals knew of it and Byron was certain that the Tyrant would use it.

Albert had advised against him going with his army to lead a decisive blow. “You are ill. Your episodes grow more aggressive. There isn’t an hour that you’re not besieged by it.”

“If I were of another constitution, I would be afraid.” Byron had replied.

But even his beloved would not have it.

“Must you go?” She held his hands in hers. She was slightly shaking, distraught, her eyes pleading with him not to leave.

“I must.” He answered, bringing her hands to his lips, kissing them. “What is a king, if not a kingdom’s protector?”

“And if you do not return?” She shook her head, willing the thought away but couldn’t. “You’re still sick – there are even times when you can’t breathe!”

“I’m sure I can dazzle my opponents with flowers – ”

“If you are gone, who would protect us then?”

His hands travelled to her growing womb and again she shook her head, more vigorously this time. “No! No! I can’t do this without you, Byron! You can’t! I wouldn’t know what to do – ”

“You underestimate your capacity, my love.” He replied.

“You overestimate me.” She was trying hard not to cry. She was trembling so much that Byron thought that if he moved even an inch away, she would collapse. So he dared not move, dare not break her.

“I will not be defeated by my enemies.” Byron assured her.

“But Byron…”

“Think of it as a feud. Between a father and his son.” He gave her a smile. “To be perfectly honest, I believe that’s what this is, really. And so many people have suffered enough because of it.”

His beloved was silent for a moment. She understood what he meant by what had said, understood the desire to protect the people first and foremost. She had done the same before. Was still doing it to this very day. And

_That was why it wasn’t going away._

_That was why it would never –_

“You have always been there for me.” She said. “You have always been watching over me, ever since my first ball. I’ve always looked up to you. Whenever I was at a loss, I looked to you for inspiration! You’ve guided me through everything. You were my north star and now…” The tears ran down her cheeks, her voice cracking at the weight of emotion. “I don’t want you vanishing from my sky.”

“Please, Byron.” She begged him. “Don’t go. Stay with me.”

“I want you to answer me, truthfully, honestly.” Byron cupped her face in his hands. “Do you love me?”

“Yes.” She said, through her tears, through her pain, through everything. “I have only loved you, Byron. So please - ”

The rest of her words tumbled into her throat as he kissed her.

An ache in his chest.

A dull, throbbing, and very familiar ache.

_No matter what I do._

_Or what we do._

_Or what we say._

_It wasn’t going away._

***

(Presently)

Stories of King Byron Wagner’s battles travelled like wildfire through the kingdom.

The soldiers said that they travelled to their skirmishes with their paths paved in flowers. It was a sign, they said to themselves and to anyone who listened, that their army has been blessed, smiled upon by the gods for all eternity. The king would always travel ahead, like the valiant monarch that he was, and where he went, his army followed. And where his army followed, the flowers bloomed.

It was as if they were not going to go to battle at all, the soldiers would continue to exclaim. The fragrance of the numerous blooms filled the air as they marched and more than once, they saw wisterias: victory over hardship. Not only had they been blessed but the future of their kingdom was secure. For was it not Wysteria that was now their sister-country? And was not Wysteria the birthplace of their queen?

And so the army continued on, led by their king, and they won battle after battle after battle against the rebellion. Even as King Byron plunged his sword into the Tyrant, there was a flurry of flowers in the wind, a dazzling display of endless petals and blooms. Was this not the blessing of the gods? Was this not the mark of being favoured above all?

Soldiers would later recount that their king was protected by the forests – for what other explanation can there be? Where the king went, there was only more flowers. Where his enemies fell, entire gardens would spring forth. A miracle, surely, the survivors said. Because despite hardship, despite death, despite destruction as far as the eye could see, there was life, there was beauty.

But like all miracles, like all feats of grandeur and of magnificence, there was a price.

The King did not march back with his army. The King was not there to be welcomed alive by his Queen and heir.

He died, his most trusted knight said, as he had lived.

In a flurry of flowers.

Choking?

Drowning?

For a love that was not quite his to begin with.

***

(Day 554)

And this was how it went.

_It wasn’t going to go away, was it?_

“We do not choose… whom we fall in love with, Al.” Byron said. The walk was making it difficult for him to talk and breathe at the same time. Even with Albert helping him.

“You’ve said it countless times already, your Majesty.”

Byron tried chuckling. Failed. “You should find yourself a woman.”

Albert only grunted.

“Over here is good.”

“Your Majesty – “

“No, Albert. There is… nothing more we can do.” He wheezed, hand too weak to even clutch at his chest. “Can’t be… helped.”

_Even now, still hoping._

_It would go away in the night._

_As mysteriously and as quietly as it had arrived._

Albert helped him sit down, propping him against a boulder so that he could sit without the knight’s support.

“Don’t be so sad.” Byron said as the knight took a seat beside him.

“But…”

The coughs again and for the first time in what seemed an eternity to him, Byron did not fight it. The medicine they had brought had long been depleted. Nothing was obstructing the disease’s hold on him now. He knew it was just a matter of time. He knew it the moment that he kissed his beloved goodbye.

He knew that he was going to…

He coughed and heaved and vomited, yet there was no end to the petals, no end to the pain in his chest.

He had been warned. Too frequently, even, for his taste, that to die due to lack of oxygen would be painful. He would suffer. There will be no reprieve. He could hurl the worst obscenities at the universe, but it would do nothing to ease his suffering.

At the corner of his eye, Albert was doing his best to be strong for him. But even his most stoic knight could be reduced to tears.

What had he accomplished, really? Paving the way for a prosperous kingdom. The destruction of his beloved’s enemies. The destruction of his own enemies. An heir that he would never be able to see. His own son that he had always wanted to carry in his arms.

The coughing stopped, to be replaced only by gut-wrenching pain. A pressure that began in his chest. Small at first, and then growing and growing, as if something was pressing on him at all sides.

_Some twisted joke of fate cursed me with this disease._

_The same cruelty kept me alive to endure it._

_And now, just when my desire to live is at the fullest, it was going to take one last final laugh._

Byron was breathing now only because he was taking shallow gulps, in quick succession, panting. Or drowning. Whichever was more poetic.

Or tragic?

“This is… a good place…” Byron shifted his gaze to look at the stars above him. And around him, he could hear the sounds of the forest: grass gently rustling, insects tutting as they made their way through leaves and barks and animals. Occasionally, the hoot of an owl.

All those sounds, accompanied by his choking.

The stars were twinkling down, blinking at intervals, timing themselves to the fall of the petals from his mouth, sending him perhaps their last whispers. If only he could understand.

If only he could live a little longer.

He closed his eyes.

He could still hear her laugh, feel the warmth of her hands on his face, taste the sweetness of her lips.

_Just one more day…?_

He wanted to see her smile again.

_Please._

Just

Once more.


End file.
